


The Stairs

by g0d0d, PineappleB



Category: Original Work
Genre: Afterlife, Angst, Confessions, F/F, Fluff, Ghosts, Hurt/Comfort, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Relationship(s), Regret
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-18
Updated: 2021-03-18
Packaged: 2021-03-27 15:42:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30125079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/g0d0d/pseuds/g0d0d, https://archiveofourown.org/users/PineappleB/pseuds/PineappleB
Summary: Walking to the stairway to hell. All gays go to hell. But it’s nice here.
Kudos: 2





	The Stairs

I looked up the stairs and through the light I saw her. I hadn’t seen her in 63 years. Not since I was 17. 

But there she was. Old and wrinkly but still just as beautiful. 

My feet started moving towards the stairs before I could react. When my foot touched the first stair a memory popped into my head. But it wasn’t my memory. It was hers. 

I was lying in a hospital bed, wires and tubing running up and down my body. She saw that. She was always there. I was taken aback for a second. My mind raced. Had she always been there? Did she see everything? Is this why she’s old too? 

I moved up to the next step and another memory came. Hers again. This time I was sitting at home in the study. A picture of my kids in my hands. That’s the moment I knew that I would be dying. 

She was there in spirit and I never knew. Slowly, I moved to the next step. This time it was a memory of me in my 60’s. My husband had just died. I was sitting next to his casket crying. 

But the memory looked like she was standing next to me with her hand in my shoulder. Consoling me in my moment of need. I looked up to the top of the stairs and noticed she looked about 20 years younger. That’s when I looked down at my hands and noticed that they were less wrinkled and younger looking. 

I quickly started to walk up the stairs faster. Each one a memory flashed in front of my eyes. 

The day my youngest grandkid was born. 

The nights my husband and I walked by the water. 

The days when I moved my kids into their college dorm. 

And with every step she kept appearing to get younger and younger. And so did my hands. 

About halfway up the stairs I felt my face and my hair was long. And it was that reddish brown I died it in my 40’s. My face was soft and not as wrinkled. I looked back up to her and saw that she looked to be about 42. Her green eyes glimmering in the light around her. Her brown hair was about shoulder length but had the same volume and flair as mine. 40 years ago. The 80’s. Of course her hair was big. 

I started moving up the stairs again. My big promotion. 

The nights my daughter cried to me about boys. 

The morning my youngest was born. 

My oldest’s first birthday. Her birth too. 

My wedding. This memory felt different than the others. The others where happy. This one hurt. 

It was then that I realized that these were the biggest moments in my life. She was happy for me in all the other moments because she had learned to be happy for me even when I couldn’t be happy for myself. 

But this one. Seeing me marry a man must’ve hurt her. It was the 60’s. I couldn’t marry a girl. But even if I could, it would still hurt her. 

I looked up at her. A tear ran down my face. She was two steps away. I restrained myself from running right to her. But there she was. 23 and beautiful. Her brown hair was still shoulder length but it had a little bit of blonde at the tips. That’s when I reached for my own hair and realized it was short too. It was the haircut I had at 21. A grown out pixie cut. 

I stepped up to next step, bracing myself because I already knew what this one was. The memory that flooded in front of me was after her funeral. I sat in our old spot in the woods by the creek. It was the spot we would always sneak off to whenever given the chance. 

I was sitting of the rock that we had spent we many moment together on. This memory was the most painful one of all. I screamed while sitting in the rock. That rock was the place she told me she loved me. 

It was 1957. Girls couldn’t love girls. But I did. I loved her. 

I screamed because she was taken from me. 

The point of view of the memory made it look like she was sitting on the branch above the rock. At one point I laid down and made direct eye contact with her. I had no idea her spirit was there but I smiled through the tears. Then the memory faded. I took the last step and there I was. On the same level as her. 

She was 19. I was 17. Her hair, still shoulder length and brown, had flowers braided into it. Upon seeing that I reached for my head. My fingertips brushed against the flower crown I knew would be there. I ran my fingers down the long braids she put in my hair that day in the meadow. 

She reached out for me on top of those stairs and pulled me into that warm embrace I hadn’t felt in 63 years. Oh how I missed that feeling of her arms wrapped around my body. I wrapped my arms around her as tears flowed down my face. 

“You were always there. Through everything,” I told her through tears. 

“Of course. My love was always with you. As you aged down on earth, I aged here. And when you passed I could finally pass. Now we’re here together. And we’re the people we were 67 years ago. Two young girls in love,” she said with that pearly smile. 

“So we can be...” I trailed off.  
“Together forever.”


End file.
